


Every Day, Something New

by ifitwasribald



Series: Something New Every Day [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M, Painplay, Sex Club, Undercover Missions, Undercover in a Sex Club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifitwasribald/pseuds/ifitwasribald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce never thought SHIELD would need him for this particular set of skills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Day, Something New

**Author's Note:**

> Bruce's perspective on Something New Every Day.

Bruce stood from his workbench and stretched.  The lab was quiet—perfectly so.  It surprised him sometimes, how quiet it could be when Tony wasn't there.  He couldn't remember ever working someplace so serene.  Sometimes he thought he could take a little of the stillness of the lab inside of himself, use it to feel as calm and controlled as he forced himself to appear.

But that evening it was almost too much, and rather than return to his own apartment, he decided to head to the communal floor, maybe cook something in the shared kitchen instead of his own.  The others might or might not be around, but he liked the idea of it—of, if not seeking out companionship, at least making himself open to it.

He rode up the elevator, mentally running through the recipes he could throw together without much trouble, and settled on the idea of daal by the time he arrived.

He'd just begun poking through the cupboards to find the ingredients he'd need when he heard voices from the next room.  They were indistinct at first, mumbled and murmured, but he recognized Tony's voice, and Clint's, and Natasha's.  There was something off about the cadence—Natasha's tone sharper than usual, Clint's more stilted.  But he only realized that something genuinely strange was going on when he heard a grudging "yes Sir" from Tony.

He put down the lentils and paused, leaning against the counter, trying to figure out what the three of them were up to.  He heard a sigh—Natasha's.  "Let's try the walking again."

Without really deciding to do it, Bruce crossed the kitchen and stood in the doorway, moving quietly enough not to call attention to himself.

Natasha stood nearest to him, her back to the door and her focus on Clint and Tony.  Every line of Clint's posture spoke of discomfort, but Bruce couldn't bring himself to pay much attention, because just behind him stood Tony, similarly tense and half-naked to boot.

Or, no, not half-naked exactly.  In fact, technically speaking, Tony wore nearly as much as he often did in the lab.  But an undershirt and jeans were a far cry from skin-tight leather pants and a top made of seven or eight leather straps, which managed to imply more debauchery than nudity could have.

Clint took a few steps across the room, like he was storming out stage right in some kind of play, and Tony followed after him.  Clint stopped and Tony walked past and then froze, and the two of them lingered awkwardly as Clint tugged at Tony's arm and Tony glared for a moment before dropping grudgingly to his knees.

"Can we maybe revisit the issue of which of us is in charge?"  Tony stayed kneeling as he asked, but nothing in his posture implied submission. Then again, Bruce couldn’t imagine that it would work out any better the other way around.

"I don't think that's gonna help," he offered.  All eyes turned to face him, and he frowned, trying to make the scene in front of him make any kind of sense at all.  “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

Tony looked up at him, a vicious grin painted all over his face.  "Natasha's teaching us how to infiltrate a sex dungeon. Supposedly it's for a mission, but I'm starting to think she's just screwing with us to get her rocks off."

Natasha gave a tart denial, but Bruce couldn't quite draw his attention away from Tony, trying to imagine what the hell kind of mission would call for… whatever this was.

Tony seemed to see the question in his face, because he launched into an explanation about some arms dealer—Joram Metzger, a name that Bruce remembered but couldn’t quite place.  From his clipped cadence, it was a name Tony knew all too well.  Whoever the guy was, getting him was personal.  Which explained why Tony was going along with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s plan: to bug the guy in a sex club.

Tony made some joke as he explained and gestured to himself, as if it were possible to draw more attention to those painted-on pants or the straps wound tight over Tony’s impressive musculature.

Bruce forced his own attention elsewhere anyway, carefully keeping his gaze no lower than Tony’s chin.  “What club?”  Maybe it was someplace that catered to people new to the scene.  Not that Clint and Tony even managed to give the impression that they were interested in whatever they were doing, but given a couple of days they could probably feign that much.

Natasha watched him with careful eyes.  “It’s called Cruci.”

Bruce snorted.  He couldn’t help it.  The idea of Tony and Clint trying to blend in at a club like that one—  He sobered quickly, shook his head.  "Find another way to get the guy.”

"We've tried.  There isn't one."

"I'm not kidding.  You can't send the two of them to a place like that.”  He let out a long breath and carefully tamped down his frustration.  “They’re going to stand out like…. what’s more obvious than a sore thumb?”

That seemed to surprise Natasha, and honest curiosity colored her gaze.  “You’ve been?”

“No.”  He hadn’t—had never especially wanted to go someplace that prided itself on its intensity, its “standards,” as if it were some kind of incredibly kinky country club.  “I know it by reputation,” he explained.  “It attracts an experienced clientele."  Or it had, anyway.  Bruce supposed that a lot could have changed in the decade or so since he’d been involved in anything like it.

Not that any of that was the point.  His gaze swept back to Clint, who slouched, his carefully nonchalant posture screaming discomfort.  And Tony, still on his knees, still intense and stubborn and obviously without any idea what he was getting himself into.

"They go in there like that, they're going to be spotted in minutes.”  Bruce kept his voice even.  “What happens then?"

Natasha’s lips curled in a grimace.  She didn’t like the plan all that much better than he did.

Clint spared her the necessity of a response.  "We’ll have a team outside.   _If_ we get made, they come in and get us.”

“You’re wasting your time.”  The words came out too harsh, and he could see Clint and Natasha tense a little.  Not Tony, though, who just looked up at him with simple determination in his eyes.  Bruce let out a breath.  He would have liked nothing more than to exit this conversation and let them go ahead with whatever half-baked plan they want, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.  “If this guy is that dangerous—“

“It’s worth a little risk.”

Bruce moved closer, and wondered why Tony hadn’t stood.  It felt odd, looking down at him.  Or no, if he were honest with himself, he’d have to admit that it was more than strange.  Tony on his knees like that…  Bruce put a stop to that train of thought as firmly as he could.  Promised himself that it had nothing to do with what he said next.

"It's really that important?"

Tony’s expression gave no ground.  “Yeah.”

"And for this to work, you have to get in and get out without drawing attention?"

"Right," Clint confirmed.

"And there's nobody you can send who—“  Bruce let a little of his frustration out in a huff of breath before looking back at the three of them.  “No offense, but who looks like they've so much as laid eyes on an S&M club before?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Tony's the only one we can get an invite for."

That explained what Tony was doing there, anyway.  It made sense that Cruci would open its doors wide for a guy like him.  Regardless of his escort.  “So it doesn't have to be Clint."

"No,” Clint answered quickly, “it really doesn’t.  You volunteering, Doc?"  His face verged on open relief.

"God help me, but... yeah."  He regretted the words almost instantly, but couldn’t take them back.  “How much time do we have?”

“You need to be in the car in forty-five minutes.”

He turned sharply, his first impulse to see from her face whether that was a joke.  He swallowed, and when she met his gaze he thought he saw an apology there.

“It’s not a perfect plan.  It’s just the only plan we’ve got.  They can handle themselves.”

And they’d have to, because they sure as hell weren’t going to be fooling anybody in forty-five minutes.

Would have had to.  If he could spare them that—if he could keep the undercover mission safely undercover—it wasn’t like he had any other choice.  Against his better instincts, his gaze flicked over to Tony, in that leather get-up that was simultaneously ridiculous and all too appealing.  But he’d agreed for other reasons, better ones, and he’d keep those firmly in mind.  God knew he had plenty of practice keeping his less admirable impulses in check.

He took a breath and tried to center himself as he met Tony’s eyes.  “We need to talk.  Privately.”

Bruce generally hated the way people walked on eggshells around him, but the speed with which Natasha and Clint vacated the room, whether it was because of the Other Guy or just the current situation, was more than a little gratifying.

Tony stood, but his posture remained a little unsteady, shifting from one foot to another as he regarded Bruce with wary eyes.  “You OK to do this?”

Bruce let out a sharp breath, almost amused at the idea that Tony was the one asking.  “That was going to be my question for you.”

Tony gave a shallow little smirk that didn’t do a damn thing to hide his nerves.  “I’ve been briefed.”  He ran one finger over the leather straps that bit into the muscles of his chests, a coy gesture that promised sensuality without giving any real impression of interest.  “I know what I’m getting into.”

Bruce just watched him.  “Do you?”

Tony stood silent, actually considering it before giving a sharp little nod.  “Yes.”  He spoke with confidence which seemed only partly feigned.

Bruce swallowed and tried to think.  But thinking wasn’t so easy with Tony right there, offering himself up like temptation incarnate. He could feel desire bubbling up inside himself, painting piercingly erotic images of everything he could do with that invitation.

He took a long breath and firmly banished all such thoughts. He could do this—could ignore his worst impulses and just walk through the motions. He could be what the mission required, and nothing else. 

By the looks of it he'd have to. He knew Tony too well to think that he’d give up on the mission even if Bruce refused to help, and he understood the situation too well not to know that he was their best hope of success.

“I’ll have to touch you,” he warned.

“You touch me all the time.  You hand me things, and I don’t know if you know this, but—“

A little smile spread across Bruce’s face.  A guy as rich as Tony was bound to have his quirks, and this one wasn’t any odder than most, Bruce supposed.  He had to admit that it tickled to him to think that he was one of a select few who Tony trusted like that, even if he did still suspect that the quirk was more theater than anything else.  “I know,” he agreed, hoping that his affection bled through.  “But this is… different.  It will have to look…”  He searched for the word, trying to explain just what he’d have to do to make the whole thing look right, to blend in.  “Intimate,” he finished, trying to load the word with the meaning he felt.  He glanced away, wishing that he didn’t have to continue.  “And I might have to do more than touch.”

Tony’s lips curled in what might have passed for a smile.  “Hey, I have no problem with that.  A handsome genius wants to sex me up, I do not mind if there’s a little pain involved.  Or an audience.”

Bruce knew it for the bravado it was, and as much as he might have liked to accept it, to take the offer at face value, he knew better.

Tony seemed to see the concern in his face, and he sobered quickly.  “I know what kind of club this is.  Whatever you have to do to make it look real, I can take it.”

Bruce nodded.  That much was probably true.  Or, if not true, at least honest.  "Do you have anything— I need you to tell me if there's anything you need me to steer clear of."

Tony shook his head, but when Bruce tried to catch his gaze his eyes slid away.

Bruce sucked in a small breath.  This was a bad idea, one that he should have rejected out of hand.  The sheer number of ways that it could go terribly wrong….  “We don’t have to do this at all.”

The look that Tony gave him at that suggestion was all determination, and Bruce couldn’t make himself argue with it.  Not when Tony choked out an honest answer.  “Make sure I can breathe.”

“OK.  Tell me they at least explained safewords.”

“I say ‘red,’ you stop.”

“And you say it any time you need to.”  Bruce watched him carefully.

“I can take whatever you can dish out, Banner.”

Something in the light tone made Bruce itch to show him how wrong he was.  The impulse stopped him short, and he thought again of calling the whole thing off.   God knew he probably should.  “I need to know you’ll use it if you need it.  Don’t worry about looking out of place—even at a club like Cruci they’ll respect a safeword.”  If Tony couldn’t agree to that and mean it, Joram Metzger could throw a fucking party on the Helicarrier for all Bruce cared—they weren’t doing this.

But Tony gave a careful nod, and in his soft eyes Bruce could see that he’d finally started to take this seriously.

“OK.  I need to get changed.  I’ll meet you at the car.  Try to relax until then.”  

Bruce didn’t have a lot of time, and he did need to change.  He sorted through the absurd closet full of clothes that Tony had given him when he moved in, and picked out a suit that he doubted would look out of place.  He’d never really gone in for the elaborate leather look that some Doms favored, and he assumed that there were still plenty of guys on the scene that shared his taste.  In his hurry to gather a few supplies, change, and get to the car in time, Bruce managed not to think too hard about the whole situation until he was already in the car with Tony, on their way to the club.

Tony handed over one of the tracking devices he’d designed, babbling a little about the specs, and Bruce would have liked to hear more, but they didn’t have a lot of time—not half enough to go over everything they should.  He’d have to do the best he could.  “We should be able to get away with just watching.  Most clubs don’t have a problem if you don’t play on your first visit.  Keep your eyes on the ground and keep your mouth shut unless I ask you a question or tell you to answer somebody else’s.”

“That’s it?”

“No.”  He fished in his pocket for the little strip of leather, and the chain that went with it.  It wouldn’t have occurred to him to ask Tony to wear a leash, but Hill had sent it along, and once Bruce had a chance to think about it, he realized that it was probably for the best.  Even more than a collar, a leash would warn anyone at the club off from approaching Tony.

But more than that, Bruce had to admit that he liked the idea.  He’d never used a leash with a sub and never particularly wanted to, and he could use a reminder, to himself, that this was different from anything he’d done before.  That neither of them were doing this for fun.

He held out the collar.  “It’ll be easier if you wear this.”

Tony regarded it for a moment, and then looked back at Bruce.  “OK.  Do you wanna—“

For an instant he imagined it, fastening the collar around Tony’s throat.  He shook his head, banishing the thought, and felt more relief than he probably should have when Tony took the collar himself and casually put it on.

A little too casually, maybe, because to Bruce's eye it looked sloppy, and he itched to tighten it and see the leather bite ever so slightly against the skin of Tony's throat. He opened his mouth to mention it, but hesitated.

The look really was off, and they couldn't afford to arouse suspicion. Any detail they could get right, they should. Bruce could almost convince himself that that was the only reason he wanted Tony to draw the thing tighter around his throat. "A little more."

He had to look away when Tony complied, and kept his eyes averted as the car slowed to a stop.

"After you," Tony told him with a little flourish, and Bruce tried not to think too hard about the nerves in his voice.

He took a deep breath as they crossed the threshold of the club, trying to maintain a reasonable baseline of calm. He grasped the leash in one hand and made straight for the front desk.  The woman behind it eyed them skeptically for a moment, and Bruce’s chest tightened until she gave a gracious smile. "We've been expecting you. Welcome to Cruci, Mr. Smith."

Bruce acknowledged that with a nod, but he heard a nervous snort of laughter behind him. Shit. He gave a little jerk on the leash, enough to remind Tony to at least keep quiet. Tony fell silent, and an instant later Bruce heard the rustle and drag of leather as he knelt.

The woman at the desk launched into what was obviously her usual spiel, explaining the club's rules. All pretty standard stuff, a little more permissive on bodily fluids and scene negotiation than the couple of clubs Bruce had been to, but nothing that surprised him. Throughout the explanation, Bruce couldn't keep his attention from straying to the fact that just out of his line of sight, Tony knelt, decked out like an offering.

He kept his gaze on the woman in front of him until she finished. Then her gaze flicked to Tony, and Bruce let himself look as well.  Tony kept his head down, his hands clasped loosely behind his back in a better show of deference than Bruce would have thought he could manage.  His muscular shoulders made the posture all the more appealing, the obvious power of his body offered up for the taking. And then his eyes flicked up, just briefly and without raising his head, but enough to give lie to the image of perfect submission.

"This one must be a challenge.”

Bruce forced his attention back to her and smiled, letting a little of his fierce desire show through.  “But worth it."

"I can imagine."  She waved at the door into the club. "Enjoy."

"I'm sure I will."  And God, if this were real, he would.  Even knowing better, he couldn’t suppress a thrum of arousal at the thought.  He swallowed it down and made for the next room, wincing as he let Tony’s leash jerk a little in his haste.  He didn’t stop, though, didn’t apologize, just led Tony to one side of the room where they could observe like anyone new to the place would.

Nothing about the room surprised him—various Doms and subs stood or sat, most of them simply enjoying the opportunity to socialize within the community.  Unlike clubs that attracted less experienced members, they all seemed content where they were, with no one obviously trying to work up the courage to move into the play room.

Tony shifted back to his knees, head bowed, and for a heartbeat Bruce tried to resist the temptation to touch him.  He almost laughed at himself an instant later—the whole point of this was to look like they were together, like Tony was his.  He let one hand drop down to Tony’s head, the tips of his fingers running through his hair.

He had to allow himself that much, but, for the sake of his own sanity if nothing else, he couldn’t let himself take any more than necessary. He told himself not to concentrate on the sensation, or on the minute shifts of Tony’s body as he responded to the touch.  Instead he scanned the room, taking the time to catch the face of every man there.  None of them matched Metzger’s description.

He glanced around, uncomfortably aware that they were going to start looking conspicuous in a few minutes.  A chair sat empty a few feet away, and he took the opportunity to sit, drawing Tony down to kneel beside him.

Tony leaned into the touch, and for an instant Bruce could barely breathe, every iota of his attention on the soft press of Tony’s cheek against his thigh.  As the two of them watched the room, waiting for Metzger to show, Bruce gave in to temptation and slid a couple of fingers over Tony’s throat, telling himself that the possessive gesture would help mask the fact that their attention was elsewhere. But he'd never been all that good at self-deception, and he couldn't pretend to ignore the intoxicating sensation of Tony’s skin, the steady beat of his pulse, the minute shift of muscles as he breathed in and out. The trust that Tony placed in Bruce, to allow it at all.

Relief warred with disappointment when Metzger showed only a few minutes later. Bruce glanced down at Tony and considered their options. They hadn't discussed specifics—hadn't had time, and anyway their strategy was just to get near enough to Metzger to plant a bug. Tony of all people would be able to improvise, as long as they got close.

So Bruce stood, deliberately doing it quickly enough that Tony would struggle to keep up as he crossed the room.

Sure enough, Tony stumbled at just the right time, nearly falling against Metzger as they passed him. 

For an instant Bruce thought that he'd done it, that the whole thing was all but over and done with, but before Tony could have secured the bug, Metzger shoved him down.

Bruce felt a sickening surge of rage, let it wash over him without building into the kind of crescendo that destroyed city blocks. He reached out to break Tony's fall, but kept his attention on Metzger, whose lips curled in a way that showed loud and clear that he had no idea the kind of danger he was in.

"Watch your boy. Just because he's pretty is no reason not to keep him under control."

Bruce drew in a breath and allowed a little of his anger to show, though he kept his voice calm. "You really think I don't?"

To his satisfaction, Metzger blinked first. "I'm sure you're fully capable of handling him,” he muttered.

Bruce barely contained a derisive snort.

"I'd enjoy seeing you bring him to heel,” Metzger added, his tone turning confident again. “I suspect it would be... stimulating."

An image of Metzger's broken body on the club floor flickered through Bruce's mind, and he contented himself with the knowledge that if tonight went well, Metzger would be in a very small cell in very short order. 

He forced himself not to react, shifting away and leading Tony toward the bar. They'd struck out once—they'd have to find another tack for a second try. He ordered a water, in case they were there long enough for Tony to get thirsty, and a straw too. He tried not to think of holding either one up to Tony's lips, watching Tony's throat ripple as he swallowed.

Trying not to think had never been one of Bruce's stronger suits.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he watched the door to the play room swing shut behind Metzger. He let his fingers drum against the bar, hoping the water would come quickly so that they could follow. The bartender seemed to take the hint, and handed over the bottle and straw. Bruce left a few bucks on the bar and turned to Tony, who stood behind him, shifting from one foot to another.

Bruce bent close to whisper in his ear. “You going to be OK if we follow him in there?” 

“Yes, Sir.” 

Bruce tried not to react, but the words, the tone, the way that Tony, his head still bowed, looked up at Bruce through his lashes, all conspired in a warm haze of arousal that Bruce couldn’t ignore.

But he could do his best. He gave a sharp nod and led Tony into the play room, ducking to one side as soon as they entered to give Tony a couple of minutes to acclimate before anything went any further. 

Tony froze as he surveyed the room, and nothing there—not the bound subs or the fucking couples or any of the attractive men in various states of undress—held a candle to Tony’s reactions as he took it in.

Tony, Bruce reminded himself, was a genius several times over. He excelled at reading people, when he cared enough to bother, and had a knack for fitting into any room he entered. Bruce had no reason to think that his reactions were anything but exceptionally good camouflage. No reason to hope that the obvious signs of arousal had anything to do with standing in that room with Bruce close behind him.

“Like what you see?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, Sir.” The rough whisper was perfect, just like everything else in Tony’s reaction. 

Bruce felt his body respond with a surge of heat. “Good.” He tamped down the insane impulse to pull Tony close, to let his erection press against Tony’s ass. 

Instead he shifted to a nearby couch and pulled Tony to sit on it too, drawing him near enough that they could talk without being overheard. They had to figure out how to get the job done and get out, preferably before Bruce slipped up and lost Tony’s friendship for good.

He kept one hand laced in Tony’s hair while the other stroked the skin of his chest. He promised himself that both were just for show, though his cock’s response left him no room for any such illusions. “I’m sorry about this,” he murmured, hoping the words sounded lighter than the apology he felt.

“No problem.” Bruce almost winced at the annoyance in his tone. But when Tony continued, his voice was all business. “We need a new plan—we’re not going to get away with the ‘oops I fell’ bit twice.”

“No,” Bruce agreed. He forced his attention to Metzger, who strode around the room like he owned the place, groping other peoples’ subs as if he had the right. 

And none of the Doms objected. Something about that felt out of place, but maybe these days Cruci attracted men who didn’t mind sharing.

Metzger paused beside one couple, a sub tied to a bench, his back covered in angry red lines, and his Dom, standing over him ready to begin again. Metzger leaned in anyway, and even from where he sat Bruce could see the Dom’s eyes flash with anger at the intrusion. It faded fast, replaced by grudging acceptance, but there was no mistaking what had happened—Metzger didn’t have permission to touch, and he did it anyway.

Bruce drew in a tight breath, almost nauseous with the sudden knowledge of what they could do with that information.

Tony turned to meet his eyes, and Bruce almost stammered out an apology for what he was about to suggest. But they couldn’t afford that. “Eyes on the floor or on what's in front of you, not on me.”

Tony complied, but the tension in his body didn’t ease. “What did I miss?”

Bruce swallowed, and tried to bring himself to explain.  "I've got a very bad idea.”

“Care to be a little more specific?”

Bruce forced his voice into a low whisper, something that could pass for dirty talk to someone who wasn’t listening closely. “Metzger’s handsy.  It’s very bad form to touch someone else’s sub without permission.”

“And?”

“It’s bad form, but the Doms at this club let him, and so does the staff.  I’m guessing he has a reputation and they don’t want to mess with him, so he thinks he has free rein. I’m obviously new to this club, so—“ He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it, to ask for what he would need to make his plan work. But they’d come this far already, and Tony wouldn’t thank him for letting them leave empty-handed when they had another option. “If he touched you, it would be natural for me to grab him to get his hands off you.  He might be annoyed, but I doubt he’d be suspicious.”

“And when you grab him you plant the bug.  OK, let’s do it.”

Bruce tried not to wince at Tony’s easy answer. He didn’t understand what he was agreeing to. But he did at least seem to understand Bruce’s hesitance. 

“What?”

“Look at which subs he’s interested in.”

Tony frowned and looked, watching the room with an intensity that suited a new sub well enough. Bruce followed his gaze, watching as Metzger ran a finger over a dark red welt on one man’s back. A moment later Metzger wandered over to another sub and gripped him hard on the shoulder, one thumb digging into a bruise on the sub’s back until he his eyes fluttered shut, obviously enjoying the pain.

Bruce looked back at Tony. His eyes stayed on Metzger a few seconds more, but then Bruce saw it—a little tremor of fear as Tony got what he was asking. 

Bruce took a long breath, released it slowly, did it again, and again. He’d finally managed to tamp down the panic rising in his own chest when Tony gave a short nod.

"Yeah, I see it. Think you can get his attention?"

He knew, with a fierce desire that bordered on nausea, that he could. That he could mark Tony’s body and make him cry out, turn him into just what Metzger was looking for. Maybe Tony was just a chameleon, faking his submission with the same effortless genius that he used in the lab, but whether it was real or false, Bruce could use it, turn him inside out with pain, and maybe pleasure too. And he _wanted_ it, viscerally, and with a passion that he’d thought long gone from his life. 

Reason enough to refuse, to walk out of there and let S.H.I.E.L.D. get the guy some other way. But he knew he was never going to back out—not if Tony wanted to go forward. "You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Bruce didn’t let himself hesitate.  He stood and half dragged Tony to the nearest free bench. It took only a moment to get him into place with his arms stretched out in front of him and held there. 

God he looked good like that. Bruce didn't even try to tamp down the shiver of arousal that ran through him at the sight. But it died in an instant, as he watched Tony tense with what looked like fear. He wanted to unlock the cuffs, pull Tony up and get them both the hell out of there. Wanted to apologize and beg for Tony's forgiveness.

Instead he played his part, as if Tony's panic were nothing but the hesitation of an inexperienced sub. As if Bruce had any right coaxing him into doing this, and enjoying it.

"You're OK," he soothed, letting a hand run over Tony's head, down the back of his neck to run gently at his shoulders. "I've got you."  With his free hand, he found the key to the cuffs and slipped it into Tony's fingers. Tony relaxed marginally, and Bruce allowed himself a few more calming breaths before he continued.

He bent down over Tony's body, close enough to speak without being overheard. He’d have liked to apologize, to ask Tony’s forgiveness for what he was about to do, but bit it back—it might make Bruce feel better, but it wouldn't help Tony.  "I can't say I'm not going to hurt you," he whispered instead, "but I swear to you that you'll be safe."

"Do your worst, Banner," Tony hissed back, all bravado.

Laughter escaped Bruce's lips, and to his own ears it sounded almost hysterical with the tension. “Not even if you begged me,” he murmured, careful to keep the words quiet enough not to carry.

He stepped away, forcing himself to do this calmly, with quick, efficient movements that didn’t give him too much time to think.  He unbuckled the leather straps at Tony’s back to expose his skin, and turned to the toys on offer.  A quick scan found four or five that would serve the purpose—not too dangerous or too painful, but painful enough to make it look good, to mark Tony’s skin the way Metzger seemed to like.  He picked out a whip and turned back, ready to begin.  But he couldn’t bring himself to just do it, and instead leaned forward to place one soft hand on Tony’s back.  He knew as it he did it that Tony would understand it as a warning, not the apology Bruce meant.  That was probably for the best.

He drew a breath.  No point in putting it off any further.

The whip made a sharp crack as it fell on Tony’s back, leaving a mark that started white but rapidly turned red.  It stood out, clearly defined against the rest of his skin, and under other circumstances it might have been beautiful, might have made Bruce ache for more, to lay down stripes just like it all across Tony’s back.  But now, as he watched Tony’s muscles tense under the pain, all it made him feel was sick.  

The nausea almost came as a relief.  He’d done this before, and it had been… good.  But never with someone who didn’t want it.  Never like this.

Even so, he couldn’t let himself stop.  If Tony was willing to accept this to get Metzger, Bruce had to be willing to do it.  He brought the whip down again, and again.

By the fourth stroke Tony seemed to relax a little, and by the fifth he almost arched into it.  Bruce’s breath caught, watching Tony’s muscles shift from hard tension into something else.  Something supple and needy and beautiful.  Something that said he wanted this.

More than anything, Bruce wanted to believe it. _Did_ believe it, in spite of himself.  Bruce had been wrong before, horribly wrong, and about far more important things than sex. He should know better than to trust himself now. But no matter how sternly he reminded himself that Tony's reactions had to be an incredible fake, as Tony pushed back into the next stroke, Bruce couldn't believe that it was anything but real.

By the time he paused, his cock strained rock hard against his pants, and he felt flushed enough to discard his suit jacket and roll up his sleeves.

He took a breath and tried to think only of the mission. He didn’t quite manage that, but he did force his attention away from Tony, surveying the room in hopes of catching Metzger watching. But Metzger stood next to another Dom, eyes glued to a sub who writhed in obvious pleasure as the Dom added another weight to the chain between his nipple clamps.

Bruce frowned and tried to think. He had to make this work—had to, because if he'd made Tony do this much, expose this much, they had to come away with something to show for it.

An answer teased at Bruce's mind, but he wanted to resist it. Still, he couldn't ignore the evidence. Metzger was a sadist, but not one who just wanted to see the subs suffer. He wanted them to like it. And Tony did, Bruce could swear, but it wasn't obvious, wasn't showy enough to catch Metzger's attention.

But it could be.

He put down the whip and moved to Tony's side, needing to look Tony in the eye before he could go any further. He released the cuff around Tony's wrist and guided his arm down by his side. Tony let him do it, and when Bruce cupped his face and turned it toward him, Tony went along with that just as easily.

His eyes opened, and Bruce suddenly realized the flaw in his thinking. Tony looked at him with pupils blown wide, trust and desire in equal measure, and both shockingly, painfully clear. It went straight to Bruce’s gut and made him ache with lust and need. 

And guilt too, because if Tony meant it, that might actually be worse. To force him into something so vulnerable… that might be a greater cruelty than the pain. 

But Bruce couldn’t afford to think about that now. He had to make this work, to make it count. And the only way he could do that was to stay in character, and take this a little further. That logic was a little too convenient for comfort, but Bruce couldn’t escape it anyway. Could only go with it.

He ran one thumb over the rough stubble of Tony’s cheek. “So good,” he murmured. “You’re so good for me.” 

Tony watched vaguely as Bruce opened the bottle of water and dropped a straw into it, holding it up so that he could drink. As Tony sucked at the straw, someone behind Bruce gave a lewd chuckle. “Tell me we get to watch him do that with something a little more substantial.”

Bruce pushed down the urge to grab the stranger by the throat—to do anything that might get his grubby eyes off Tony. Which wasn’t to say that Bruce could really disagree. Tony with his cheeks hollowed, eyes falling shut as he sucked desperately at the straw…. Bruce had to admit that the visual was damn impressive. But anger surged through him anyway, even as he reminded himself that attracting attention was the whole point of the exercise.

And maybe more than a little of the anger was directed at himself, because as he stood there, just inches from Tony, he couldn’t help but imagine it. He could take his cock out and draw Tony close. Tony would do it—he’d assume it was all part of the act and put those gorgeous lips around him, he’d suck Bruce into that hot, tight, clever throat, and Bruce could almost feel how good it would be. 

He shook his head, trying to banish the mental image.  “Not tonight,” he told the onlooker firmly, careful to keep regret out of his voice.  “Tonight I have other plans.”  Plans that he really needed to share with Tony.  But as he bent close, he knew that there were far too many eyes on the two of them for a real conversation. A few hushed words might pass, but any more would risk drawing attention and ruining everything.

He couldn't take the chance. So he settled for a quiet warning, one he could only hope Tony would understand. "You remember your safeword?"

“Yeah.”

In other circumstances Bruce might have taken the casual answer. He’d never been a stickler for formalities, but then, people who didn’t care about that sort of thing probably wouldn’t have ended up at a place like Cruci. He grabbed Tony by the hair and pulled—not hard enough to really hurt him, but hard enough that he’d notice.

“Yes Sir,” Tony corrected, and even though it wasn’t the sort of thing Bruce would have insisted on, the words still warmed his blood.

“Good.” Bruce got him back into place and turned, steeling himself for what he was about to do. One careful finger trailed down over Tony’s back, moving slowly enough that Tony would have to know where he was going before he got there. But all he heard from Tony was a slight shift in his breath, even when Bruce eased his pants down to his thighs, leaving him bare. He waited again, almost hoping to hear an objection, and when it didn’t come he couldn’t keep himself from leaning close to Tony’s ear, pressing the issue. “You can use your safeword. We’ll find another way.”

Tony’s head jerked from side to side, and it took Bruce a moment to realize that he was shaking his head, fervent in his refusal to call this off. Tony wanted more. Whether for the mission or for himself didn’t matter—either way Bruce had to let go and do it.

He prepped Tony carefully, moving as quickly as he could while still doing it right, and selected a small plug from the waiting tray. He slicked it with lube and pressed it in, watching with satisfaction as it slid easily into Tony. When he flicked the end, Tony’s whole body trembled with gorgeous, shameless pleasure, and Bruce felt an answering pang shiver deliciously over his skin and down to his prick.

He turned back to the tray of toys, and picked out a strap, the leather thick and just long enough to be easy to control. He took a breath and brought it down on the pale skin of Tony’s ass—not as hard as he could, not by half, but hard enough to make Tony tense all over. As Bruce had known it would, the reaction moved the plug just right, and Tony cried out, his voice thick and desperate and as obvious in his enjoyment as Bruce had hoped he’d be. Bruce brought the strap down again, and again, and felt his cock jerk and strain as he watched the pain and pleasure course through Tony’s body.

He lost track of the number of strokes, concentrating instead on Tony, cataloging his reaction to each blow, and calibrating the next to make it better, sharper, until all he could think of was Tony’s body, Tony’s pleasure.

When he finally paused between blows and glanced at the gathered crowd, Bruce’s skin went cold. Metzger stood just a foot away, his eyes all over Tony, as if he had the right, as if Tony were his. Bruce felt anger blaze through him, and for an instant he feared that he’d miscalculated horribly, and the Other Guy was about to tear out of his skin and destroy Metzger and _Cruci_ and everyone in it, Tony included.

He took a careful breath and mastered himself, giving Tony’s thigh a little squeeze of warning as he carefully slid the tracker out of its hiding place. Metzger moved closer, and Bruce forced his expression into something collegial, as though he saw nothing wrong at all in Metzger looking at Tony like a piece of meat he might buy. 

“He’s lovely.”

Bruce couldn’t disagree with that, much as he’d like to disagree with anything the man said with that expression on his face. He waited another heartbeat and watched as Metzger’s hand reached out, daring to drop down and touch Tony’s raw skin.

Bruce felt satisfaction blaze through him as he grabbed Metzger’s wrist. He couldn’t let himself squeeze hard enough to break the bones—that would be more than a little conspicuous—but he held harder than strictly necessary to plant the bug as he wrenched Metzger’s hand away from Tony. “He’s mine.” The words surged through him like a drug, the sweetest lie that had ever passed his lips. “No one touches him but me.” Metzger snatched his arm back and rubbed at his wrist, his expression surprised enough to pour cold water over Bruce’s empty triumph. “I’m sure you understand,” Bruce added, his voice a little more conciliatory, silently praying that nothing in his reaction came across as anything but a particularly possessive Dom showing off a little for a sub who was obviously too good for him.

Metzger laughed, clearly annoyed, but no longer suspicious. “Of course,” he agreed, turned on his heel, and walked away.

Bruce almost sagged with relief, and covered it by leaning over Tony’s body. “Got him,” he whispered. “Just a little longer and we can stop.”

The idea of stopping made him ache, and not with the relief he ought to have felt. He’d do this forever if he could. 

And for a little while longer, he had an excuse. 

He picked up where he'd left off, just as hard, just as careful to give Tony exactly what he seemed to need. And Tony responded beautifully, melting under the blows even as he writhed in obvious pleasure. Bruce was vaguely aware that they still had a crowd watching, but his eyes didn't leave Tony's body.

All too soon, Tony began to tense, the muscles of his thighs trembling, and Bruce knew he had to be close. 

More than anything, Bruce wanted to push him over, to show him how much pleasure he could take. He ached to see Tony overwhelmed by orgasm, and know that he'd been the cause of it.

But he couldn’t—had no right to, even if Tony was begging for it with every line of his body. What Bruce wanted was something personal, and intimate, and he couldn't take it from Tony when they'd only gotten this far for the sake of the mission. Whatever Tony might think at the moment—and Bruce was pretty sure that the soft whispers coming from his throat were all pleas for more—to finish this now would be a violation.

Bruce stepped away, breathing carefully and moving quickly to discard the strap, pull out the plug and toss it in the disinfectant bin, and unlock the handcuffs.

Tony looked up at him vaguely, disappointment and hurt in his face. 

Bruce swallowed hard, and began fastening the straps that passed for Tony's shirt.

A few people who'd been watching moved away, seeking other entertainment, but several remained, apparently hoping there'd be more to this show. "Done already?" one guy inquired, as if indignant to be missing the climax.

Bruce busied himself rubbing Tony's arms, which had to be sore after the extended time bound above his head, and very carefully didn't punch the stranger in the throat. Instead he fixed his most vicious smile on his face and let some of his desire for Tony bleed into his voice. "Not even close. You should see how he takes it when I've made him wait."

That apparently had the intended effect on the audience, who mostly chuckled as if to say they more than understood. Good. Their cover was intact, and with any luck at all they'd be out of there in moments, mission accomplished. "Pull yourself together." He indicated Tony's pants, which remained around his ankles.

Tony blinked at him and slowly reached down to pull them up. His eyes were still glazed with pleasure, and something surged through Bruce's blood and made him reckless. He pulled Tony close, but made sure to pitch his voice to carry to the nearby spectators, making it at least plausible that his only intention was to provide a little more cover for their hasty departure. "If you're very good, I'm going to fuck you raw when we get home."

Tony seemed to melt a little at that, and a shiver ran through him as he hurried to fasten his pants. For an instant Bruce let himself hope that he could make good on his promise when they got back to the Tower, but he quickly dismissed the notion. Even if Tony wanted to— Even if he ever wanted to do anything like this, it sure as hell couldn't be tonight, with Tony still impossibly vulnerable.

They got to the car without incident, and once they settled in, the driver rolled down the privacy barrier. “The tracker’s active, coming through clear.  We’ve got a team ready to follow it back to Metzger’s base.   Thought you’d want to know.”

“Yeah,” Bruce nodded, “good. That’s good.” But he couldn’t quite drag his focus to the outcome of the mission. He had no role in it anymore, and nothing about it could capture his attention like the tension in Tony’s voice.

“Yeah, hey. Really good.”

The privacy barrier slipped back into place with a faint whirring of motors, and Bruce tried to think what to say. The shift from the club to the silent car felt like a shock to his system; surely all the more so to Tony. Bruce wanted to analyze, to reassure, to talk about the scene and how it had felt to both of them. But every word that came to him felt wrong—condescending or awkward, or, far worse, pressuring Tony for more than he’d want to give.

Bruce turned his face to the window as they rode in silence. Maybe Tony would break it first. God knew that the man had no qualms about demanding whatever the hell he wanted. If he’d liked what they did, he wasn’t liable to keep it to himself.

But the silence dragged on as they wound their way through the city, and the distance between the club and their current reality grew. Doubt pooled like ice in Bruce’s belly until it became a kind of certainty—that however Tony had felt about it at the time, by now he regretted all of it. 

Bruce glanced over, trying to read Tony’s expression, but found him tense, shut down in a painful contrast to the open pleasure he’d displayed just minutes before. And even as Bruce ached to see Tony like that again, he owed it to him to make clear that nothing had to change because of it. If Tony wanted, they could pretend together that nothing had happened. “You were perfect in there,” he offered. “Could have fooled anyone.”

Tony gave a sharp nod, his expression hard enough to hurt.  “You too.”

They pulled into the garage below Stark Tower, and Tony reached for the door before the car even stopped. Bruce winced, but before he could turn away, he caught the faint trembling of Tony's free hand. He sucked in a breath, newly afraid that he'd handled the situation all wrong. He might not be the right man to make the offer, but after what they'd done, he couldn’t leave Tony to deal with it alone. “I could—  If you don’t want to be alone after that, I could… take care of you.” 

It sounded stupid to his own ears, and surely all the worse to Tony, who watched through narrowed eyes and kept his mouth shut.

“I don’t mean—“ Bruce could hear the desperation in his own voice, and took a breath, tried again. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to take things any further.  I know that this was just— Things got a little intense in there, and I don’t want—“

“Forget it.”

The tone invited no argument, and Bruce nodded. Forcing the issue would do neither of them any good. “OK.”

And then Tony was out of the car and gone, the elevator door closing behind him before Bruce even got his door open. 

The car pulled out as Bruce waited for the next elevator, shifting from foot to foot. When it finally opened, Bruce let out a long breath. The whole night, for better or worse, was over. 

He kept his breathing slow and careful as the elevator began to ascend. He’d almost reached his floor when he realized that his bedroom, alone, was the last place he wanted to be. “JARVIS, the lab, please.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Bruce stepped out into the cool, quiet room, silent but for the faint hum of computer fans. He wandered toward his own workstation, letting his hands run over the keyboard, toying with a few of the displays he’d left running that afternoon. He almost laughed to remember that it hadn’t even been a day since he’d lingered here, soaking in the calm. Now, in spite of his surroundings, he felt anything but. 

His skin still hummed with a hot tension, and his cock strained against his pants every time he remembered the feeling of Tony’s skin under his hands. He thought of returning to his rooms, taking himself in hand and at least doing something about the erection. But that, he knew, wouldn’t solve the larger problem—would only add to it. If Tony wanted more…. Bruce shook his head. No point in even thinking of it. For now, all he could do put it out of his head.

But he certainly could do that. He’d kept himself under control in worse situations, God knew, and lived every day with worse sins than he’d committed tonight. He could sure as hell cope with wanting one more thing that he couldn’t have.

He worked for maybe an hour and a half, doing the calculations in his head instead of having JARVIS run them in hopes that he’d find in the math a soothing kind of distraction. It didn’t entirely work, but by the time he let himself collapse into bed, he felt calm enough that sleep seemed no less likely than usual.

Except that as his body relaxed into the soft mattress, the night’s activities caught up with him again, and his head swam with memories. It would do no good to indulge them, but lying there alone, he couldn’t bring himself not to. Even as he knew that nothing would ever come of it, even as he knew that the desire threatened to destroy the thin veneer of peace he’d managed to find these last few months, he couldn’t help but wallow in the heady desire, hotter and fiercer and more alive than anything he’d felt for years.

He made one last effort, trying to convince himself to really let it go, before his hand closed over his rapidly hardening cock, and he allowed the vivid memories of the club—of Tony—to overwhelm him.

Calm was overrated anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> For reasons passing understanding I had to write this fic in order to move forward with the next chapter of Something New Every Day, which is one of many reasons that a follow-up that I expected to post in a matter of weeks has taken over four months. It's almost done now. I swear. Two, three more weeks, tops.


End file.
